


leathermouth...

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, BoyxBoy, Bullets Era, Light BDSM, M/M, My Chem, Poet! Frank, Revenge Era, artist! Gerard, bottom! frank, bullets/revenge, top! gerard, tw anxiety, tw depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>frank is a jersey punk with a masochistic side, and gerard is an anxious artist with a need for a subject</p><p>/under construction! im reworking some aspects of the story :) -4.9.16</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. no.1 fuck up

A small child wore a mask, a mask so dark it was like a raven in a winter flurry; for the boy was much too pale, and he 

????? what?????

Gerard flipped his pencil over, chest tightening. This story was never going to get anywhere. 

He looked over his notes again and picked up an eraser. Maybe if he backtracked and erased the last three panels before this one? But no, then he would lose the subtle entry of the butler, but it was entirely the wrong time frame, he wasn't even the part of the main plot... but he could be, and what if Gerard changed his mind later? He needed a break. It was all too much work, and there was no point if he couldn't get his thoughts together.

What a joke. His thoughts had been a mess for too long to ever get organized again. 

He seeped out of the chair near his desk, and curled up in his bed next to Mitch. 

The cat purred as Gerard gently rubbed the back of his ears, and he sniffed a bit. Had he remembered to take his allergy medicine today? Something in his stomach shifted, and he felt sick. What if he didn't? It would be a one way trip to the hospital is what it would be.

He closed his eyes and thought back hard to the beginning of the day.

At 1 PM he had gotten out of bed to grab a pencil and his notepad. He always kept his notebook on his shelf next to all his meds. He was almost 100% sure he had taken them. Almost.

"Try not to kill me, okay, Mitch?" His voice was soft and a little raspy. He probably needed to drink more water.

Mitch continued to purr.

Someone knocked on his door. "Gerard? You awake?" The door cracked open and his brother Mikey stuck his face in. His glasses reflected the bits of color coming from Gerard's red fairy lights, since his art lamp was off and the curtains pulled tight as always.

"Yeah? You need something?" His voice wasn't hostile- just curious. Gerard sat up, blankets piled around his mostly bare legs. He had gotten these Marvel shorts for his birthday; they were quite comfy.

Mikey stepped in, and almost tripped on some laundry. He straightened his glasses a little and said, "Me and Ray are going to the park to chill. We're bringing some late lunch. Well, it's more of some shitty sandwiches for an early dinner." His laugh prompted Mitch to jump down from the bed to rub on his legs. He leaned down to pet him. "You should come. It's probably best to come outside for some fresh air and... Yeah." He straightened and gave him a small grin. "Plus, when Mom gets home you won't have to listen to her pester you about dinner and socializing."

"Oh, so I should listen you pester me about dinner and socializing, then?" Gerard rolled his eyes jokingly.

To be honest, Gerard didn't want to go. He felt exhausted, and worn out. But it was his brother, and he wanted him to go.

Also, he made a good argument. "Still better than Mom."

"Okay, true. I'll come."

-

Gerard pulled on a jacket and tried not to look too long in the mirror. His eyes always had bags under them, and his hair was too greasy and his skin was too pale. Maybe he liked it that way. Maybe it was better to ignore how you look all day and then cry about being a wreck later. Joking™.

He grabbed his sketchbook and a pencil from his desk, and 3 different skin tone pencils from the drawers. He loved drawing random fucking strangers. The fact that he would probably never see them again was such a cool concept; whatever was drawn would probably be all he remembered of them. Eventually he would forget the real life details, and all he would have for reference was his sketch. It was a challenge to see how much of their features and motions and mood he could capture; and then that would be all that was left of them. To him, of course.

He walked out into the living room clutching his stuff. Mikey was waiting at the door with a bag in his arms. 

"Sorry for keeping you." He noticed for the millionth time how ridiculously feminine his voice sounded. Not necessarily bad. Just interesting seeing people fumble over their Sir's and Miss' when talking to him. He hated being curvy.

Mikey's voice was sort of quiet and inviting, "No worries. Ray's already there, so we should be eating dinner by 4." Mikey pulled open the door, and then they were on their way. No need for a car, as it was only a slight walk from where they lived.

"Okay, the sandwiches are sort of shit, I mean, I made them so, but I was thinking it might just be nice to sit in the park for a while. Ray has some stuff to write for his class, and actually, he asked for my help on it. Uh, yeah." 

Mikey could be so stuttering sometimes. Anxiety made Gerard edgy as shit, and not in the cool way. More in the, stressed as hell, on edge way. So it wasn't exactly his place determining who was awkward or not, no matter how shitty their sandwiches were. Not that Gerard was in it for the food anyways. He didn't have much of an appetite, and he always felt exceedingly awkward eating in public. 

Up ahead, they saw the little green patch in between streets that was the local park, and Ray sitting down near a scraggly tree. Mikey jogged a little ahead of him to set his things on the grass, and get a high five from his friend. 

"Hey, Gerard! How's it going?" He gave Gerard a high five as well. At least he could take comfort in the fact that Ray's voice wasn't exactly the epitome of masculinity either. His nasally voice gave him this cute quality that made this rock and roll and muscle exterior seem almost dorky. Ray was a nice guy, and despite what his brother said, Mikey was probably the one that called him up for help on his paper. Mikey was hopeless at English.

They all sat in a rough sort of circle, Ray with his back toward the tree, parallel to Mikey, and Gerard with his back towards the street, so he could have a good look at the park as a whole. 

Tucking a stray piece of shoulder length black hair behind his ear, he flipped through the pages of his sketch pad to a clean page, and set his pencil to the paper. He started out just trying to capture some of the landscape; a quick sort of warmup.

After a few minutes of speed sketching, he let himself pay attention to what Ray was saying for a moment.

"...So I said to him, 'No fucking way, man', and he was like, 'I promise, I won't.'" Ray was laughing hysterically at his own joke, and whatever it was, Gerard has missed it, but Mikey was laughing as well. His cheeks were flushed by the time the laughing died down, and by then Gerard had effectively tuned out the conversation again to start working on his portraits. 

Truth be told, he hadn't really individually paid attention to the people in the park so far, just rough outlines of where they all sat on the landscape. He scanned the park, hoping that no one would notice how much of a creep he was. God. He still felt like he had to throw up.

There was a couple of kids sitting on the far end of the swing set; two boys, maybe 14 or so. Not exactly kids, since they were only 3 years younger than Gerard was now. 

Over near the water fountain sat an old lady feeding a few pigeons. She looked quite sad for someone wearing an all-felt pink cardigan.

The park was quite empty today, Gerard noticed. The last person was under a tree near the other side of the park, the only one with a few flowers budding on it. The boy underneath it was focused on some kind of writing; every so often he would glance around at things and scribble a few more words.

It wasn't a terribly large park, so Gerard had a pretty good view of they boy, who looked about his age, and gosh was he glad. He had tattoos.

Gerard loved tattoos, on other people, of course. Something about a needle sticking in his skin was fucking terrifying. But permanent art? That was metal as fuck. 

So with a quick decision and a check to make sure Ray and Mikey had no plans of leaving (check.) he had no trouble picking the boy with tattoos to draw. He did one of his 15 second observations; just the surface. 

He had been so preoccupied with the boy's hand tattoos, he didn't even see the scorpion on his neck. He was wearing a cut up Misfits tee, (well, understandable, this was Jersey) and ripped jeans. His black hair, which was cut in a mohawk type style, kind of flowed to the front and side in a fringe, while the middle it looked like a fucking pony's mane. Actually not a bad look. He wished he knew his name.

Gerard started capturing his look. A little bit of shading here, some angles there. Catching the flow of his hair just right. He looked up again and saw the boy lifting up his left hand. He was holding a cigarette, and took a deep drag before twirling his pencil across the paper again. So he's a smoker. Gerard made a few adjustments to the boy's expression. 

He had to record that look. The one of deep concentration. It looked like he was doing something important, or rather it was something important that he was determined to do the exact opposite of. His expression either said, don't fucking mess with me, or, I'll fuck you up.

He spent so long trying to perfectly get the boy's own artistically perceived perfection on the paper he didn't even notice Mikey tapping his shoulder.

He took a final look at his paper. The shadows that cast down the boys face were intimidating; his eyes had a cemetery look to them, and his dark straight eyebrows contrasted sharply with his soft lips. The smoke from his cigarette twisted around his head, up into the light brushing of flowers hanging over him. His penciled face showed a look of concentration, his eyes cast down, towards his hands holding the notepad. The shading Gerard did with the rose skin tones made his cheeks peachy, and left the boy's silver lip ring and nose ring untouched as to stick out with the cream colors. Gerard wanted to laugh. It was a shit drawing, but he loved it like hell. It was good enough. It caught enough of the boy to take home with him.

"Gerard? Hey, snap out of it." Mikey put a hand on his brothers shoulder, and Gerard's heart rate went up.

"Shit, Mikey, sorry, what were you saying?" His face felt hot; how could he be so fucking oblivious, he was drooling over a shitty drawing while his brother was trying to get his attention. 

His brother gave him a weird look. "That boy you've been drawing?" He started off, and in his panic, Gerard didn't let him finish.

His voice went up a pitch as he rushed an apology, "I'm sorry, I'm so fucking creepy, I should have been listening to what you were sayi-"

Mikey interrupted him, "Gerard. Gerard, it's cool. I just wanted to tell you, that boy you were drawing? Yeah, well, look." 

Gerard quickly looked back up towards the tree at the end of the park. 

Those I'll fuck you up eyes had found his, and were looking straight at him, intensely. His hand was stayed on his paper, like he was considering recording this shit down. To be fair, he looked as every bit as surprised and embarrassed as Gerard wanted to be; instead, his body went into freak the fuck out mode, and his anxiety attack fucking peaked.


	2. vampire boys and poetry

Frank took a deep breath, trying to get rid of his queasiness. It was something that was clutching onto his stomach all morning, and even the fresh air didn't seem to be helping in the slightest.

Deep breaths.

He was sitting at the edge of the park, the one right around the corner from his house. Sometimes he would come here to clear his head, maybe write shit poetry. He wasn't a very touchy feely person, but he did have his fair share of suck ass emotions. Not to say he was emotionless in the least. Just quietly held together.

Frank took a drag of his cigarette, pushing back his fringe a little. He liked to pretend smoking helped get rid of his stomachaches and nausea, but it was most likely just a one way ticket to cancer hell and a lecture from his Catholic teachers about smelling like smoke. Thank god it was his last year. He was honestly surprised he hadn't even been kicked out yet.

A breeze drifted through the park, and Frank made another note on his paper. He was trying to get down the whole mood of the place. 

This particular day was a little chilly, but not so much as to stop Frank from wearing his ripped Misfits tee and tattered jeans. The weather as a whole made the park seem like a graveyard. Gray, slightly overcast by clouds. But a little green and hopeful too.

He adjusted his fringe again, and took his routine scan of the park. People watching was something that could distract him from the fucking aching pain in his gut. God, he wish it would go away.  

Immediately, someone caught his eye. You could say Frank had a type, the way he noticed the boy so quickly. Frank most certainly did.

The boy in question sat in a little group on the opposite far left side of the park, with a pad of paper in his hand and a pencil in the other. Was he writing? No, on second glance Frank noticed he had multiple colored penciled he kept switching in between. So drawing, then. 

The wind picked up a little, and Frank could see the shoulder length black hair on the boy fall out behind his ear. The boy pursed his lips and pushed his black hair back into place. He was chubby, but with long and deft looking artist fingers, and his build looked overall kind of femme. From where Frank was sitting, anyway. He was so in love.

With his character of course. Without even knowing him, Frank had constructed this person inside his head, shaped their personality to fit a fantasy. It was one of his favorite things to do with strangers, give them a role to play out in his fiction. This pretty boy could be the subject of so many different stories. All Frank had to do was imagine them for him.

Jet black hair. Collar up. As pale as a fucking vampire. Yeah.

You could say Frank was a little more than flustered when he noticed the boy was looking straight at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a quick snapshot of franks pov! ill get the next chapter as quick as possible! + as you can tell, frank is a whole lot more, guess you could say, whimsical than gerard. also remember reading somewhere frank has called himself a masochist before... #foreshadowing

**Author's Note:**

> heyo! i hope you like all this gay art shit so far! im actually quite happy with it. this is set sort of in bullets age, but with a revenge look? yeah. or pre bullets gerard is good too. can i get a holla for chubby gerard  
> o yeah! so the music shit will come later if you're wondering; also maybe kinky shit lmao. stay tuned  
> love yall, jay


End file.
